


To Burn And Keep Quiet

by oopsabird



Series: What We Want, What We Need, What We Deserve [1]
Category: DCU, Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: (not Etta because she's a good person), Bisexual Character, Etta gets caught in a minor moral conundrum, Friendship, Gen, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Mutually Unrequited, Period-typical attitudes towards homosexuality, Pining, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Secrets, Unresolved Romantic Tension, epilogue compliant, oblivious idiots in love, sober Charlie, yes it can be both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 21:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13419816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopsabird/pseuds/oopsabird
Summary: Sameer and Charlie tell their secrets, yet still keep them secret all the same. Etta gets caught up in the middle of their mess, and prays for patience.





	1. august 1918 - three months before

**Author's Note:**

> Is this the Big Fic? No! But you know what it _is?_ The prequel to The Big Fic!!! This was originally going to be in the prologue of it, but I realized it works better as a prequel/set-up piece. Still not very close to being done TBF, but this part is very much set in stone and I wanted to feel productive!
> 
> This fic and TBF and hopefully a few others will be part of a little "verse" I've made called the Want Need Deserve Verse, or WND Verse, and I have been massively enjoying all the worldbuilding that has entailed, so I am super excited to start sharing that with all of you! This verse is compliant with and draws strongly from the post-canon paradigm set up by the [Epilogue](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YOb_PkrJokk). Also, gotta say writing Etta's POV was so much fun, I love her to bits. Enjoy!
> 
> the "Teen and Up" rating is for some minor vague descriptions of injury and blood in chapter one, which I didn't think was graphic enough to require a warning
> 
> eternal shoutout to the ever-patient elri, proof-reader and confidant supreme

_"To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring upon ourselves."_

_-Frederico Garcia Lorca, Blood Wedding and Yerma_

* * *

 

        Etta discovered how Sameer felt after a mission gone wrong.

        She wasn’t entirely sure what had happened, at first. She’d just been finishing a late supper with the other ladies at her boarding house, when the phone rang - an unusual occurrence.

        Ms. Jules, the landlady, had marched over to answer it, starting off on one of her infamous berating rants, saying how rude it was to call during supper, but then she trailed off into silence. All the girls around the table watched intently as she listened to the voice on the other end.

        “I see.” she nodded, “Yes, alright.” She held out the receiver, looking directly at Etta. “It’s for you.”

        It was Steve on the line. He opened by saying he was calling from a hospital across town, which she really wished he’d thought through a bit more; it sent her blood pressure skyrocketing. But then he’d clarified that he was fine, which made her sigh in relief.

        Then he said Charlie wasn’t fine, he’d been injured, and that was why they were back early and also at the hospital, which made her quite worried all over again.

        Then he gave some incoherent semi-redacted speech about how he was being redeployed, but he couldn’t say where or why, and also could she please come to the hospital and take care of  Charlie and Sameer, because he had to leave now, like right now.

        All of this left her feeling very confused, especially since he’d said Sameer wasn’t injured, and why on earth was he leaving so soon, and what on earth had happened? As she asked all this, she took a second to glare at the other girls, who were barely pretending to eat their dinner and were instead intently eavesdropping on every word she said. The glare did little to quell them. Busybody gossips.

        Steve said he didn’t have time to explain, and he wasn’t allowed to over the phone, but could she please come do this, he really had to go, and he wasn’t asking as her boss, but as her friend.

        So now she found herself in a cab, speeding through the darkened London streets towards the hospital. On her way to watch over two grown men even though she was not in fact their mother, but she was in a roundabout way their colleague, and more recently she liked to think she was their friend. Charlie and Sameer were good men, even though they could be rough around the edges in their own different ways, and she worried about them just as she did her employer. Etta had grown up in a house with four sisters, but lately with Steve and the boys, she was beginning to feel like she had three brothers as well. Goodness knows they gave her as many headaches as any sibling would, bothering her and worrying her and caring for her in their own funny ways.

        She really hoped they were going to be okay.

        When she arrived at the hospital, her British Intelligence employment card and Steve’s word left at the front desk got her a ward number and directions. Ward Five, bed number eight, just down the hall.

        As she marched through the halls, past the doors of the crowded wards, she kept her eyes locked straight ahead, except for checking the ward numbers posted over the doors. The morbidly curious part of her mind urged her to look in and follow the sound of the moans, the crying, the screams, but she steadfastly refused. She’d done this before. She knew exactly what she’d see.

        Still, just the thought of it all had her feeling increasingly worried. Steve hadn’t given any details about the extent of Charlie’s injuries. What if it was bad, really really bad? Etta now felt terribly guilty about any thoughts of annoyance she might have had on the way here. She wrapped her jacket more tightly around herself, trying to ward off the sudden feeling of a summer evening chill.

        When she arrived outside Ward Five, she hesitated just for a second, steeling herself for whatever she’d find when she entered, and saying a brief little prayer that maybe, it wouldn’t be as awful as she feared. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside.

        Even if it hadn’t been relatively near to the door, Charlie’s bed would’ve been instantly easy to find because of the two figures standing over it; Sameer and a young nurse. The rest of the ward was mostly empty of visitors at this hour, only one or two nursing sisters out making the rounds. 

        Charlie lay prone on his back, sheets pulled up to his chest. Etta allowed herself a tentative feeling of relief - he didn’t look all that bad. He was unconscious, sure, and pale as hell. A narrow swathe of bandages wrapped around his head, with a tuft of orange hair sticking out the top which would in any other situation have been quite comical. More bandages could be seen around his right shoulder, poking out from under the baggy neckline of the hospital smock. But as she slowly came closer, Etta could plainly see he still had both arms, ten fingers, and the outline of both legs and feet under the thin blankets.  His face was relaxed, not screwed up with any obvious pain. She couldn’t tell from here whether he was sleeping naturally or simply sedated, but the horror-show images her brain had conjured began to fade away.

        Standing by the bed and listening to the nursing sister explain Charlie’s condition, Sameer seemed almost worse off than his injured friend. Etta could see why Steve had said she needed to look after him, too. The man looked an absolute fright.

        It was immediately clear he hadn’t slept in at least a couple days - there were deep dark circles under his eyes, and his face was pallid and drawn. The slump of his shoulders made it appear as if he were just barely keeping upright; even his hair seemed exhausted, curls hanging limply down over his forehead instead of staying gelled in their usual place. The left arm and shoulder of his coat, she realized, were stained with large dark patches of dried blood, and there were bandages wrapped thick around his left hand. 

        The nursing sister noticed her approaching the bed first, and finished her conversation with Sameer to make her way over and greet Etta. As the girl turned away from the bed, Etta witnessed something remarkable happen behind her back.

        As soon as the nurse wasn’t looking, Sameer reached down with his un-bandaged hand to take hold of Charlie’s where it lay atop the sheets. When he did, it seemed that his whole demeanour changed - he stood a little straighter, and the pinched, drained expression fell from his face. In its place was a look which was at the same time fierce and gentle, protective and affectionate, joyous and agonizing; and it faded quickly into something deeply mournful as he released Charlie’s hand, shoulders drooping once again. The entire moment was over in a few seconds, but Etta knew what she had seen in Sami’s eyes.

        Love.

        The longing, pained look of unrequited love.

        She suddenly understood she’d seen it on his face a few times before, and had had her suspicions, but could never put a name to what she saw until now.

        Etta swallowed back her gasp of epiphany, so as not to draw the nursing sister’s attention to what she’d just witnessed.

        “I’m sorry Sister,” Etta raised a hand to gently stop the girl mid-greeting, “I need to speak with my friend for a moment. Urgently. Alone.” She leaned around the nurse’s shoulder and hissed to get his attention, “Sameer!” When he looked up, startled, she jerked her head towards the door.

        Thankfully, he followed with only slight confusion and no questions, sparing a mournful backwards glance for Charlie as he went. Etta led the way out into the hall, to a door marked _Clean Bed Linens_ she’d passed on the way in.

Opening the door revealed a large dim closet lined with shelves of bleached white sheets and a few crates, so she checked the coast around them was clear and then ushered Sameer inside. She followed after and shut the door behind her, spinning around to lean against it and fix her sights upon him; something in her eyes made him flinch back a few inches.

        “Oh. my. word.” she gasped breathlessly, surprised when she had to fight to keep an excited grin off her face, “You love him! You’re  _in love_  with him!!”

        Sameer’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he quickly crossed his arms and schooled his expression to something more like aggravation. “Hello Etta, so nice to see you. I am fine, thank you so much for asking.” His voice was dripping with sarcastic nonchalance. “Would you care to explain just what in the hell you are talking about, hm?” he said expectantly, as if he didn’t understand.

        “Oh no,” Etta wagged a finger in his face, “don’t you try and act coy! I _know_  what I just saw in there.”

        Sameer froze, looking cornered and caught off guard. “Perhaps... you are imagining things.” he said, but in his tiredness it sounded more weakly defensive than actually convincing.

        “Don’t condescend to me, Sameer.” Etta bristled, “I’m not a child.”

        Sameer at least had the decency to look ashamed of himself, dropping his gaze to the floor. “I know, I know you are not. My apologies.” he said quietly. The defensive stiffness seeped out of his frame, and his shoulders sagged. He looked almost more tired than he had before.

        “Sami,” Etta said gently, a rare use of his nickname, and laid a careful hand on his arm, “I’m your friend; you don’t need to hide yourself from me. You can trust me.”

        He was silent for a long while, staring down at his boots, before he heaved a deep shuddering sigh and looked up, his expression uncharacteristically open and raw - no hint of deception.

        “You’re right,” he whispered. “I love him.”

        “Oh, I just knew it!” Etta bounced on her toes with excitement despite herself. “That is so adorably sweet! You know, in hindsight this explains quite a lot, honestly.”

        “Etta, please listen to me.” Sameer placed both hands on her shoulders, his expression grave, “You cannot tell a soul.”

        “Well yes, obviously.” she said with a nonchalant roll of her eyes - she was well aware of how this worked. She tried to brush off his hands, but he held tight, urging her to meet his eyes.

        “I am not joking, Etta! You cannot tell Steve, you cannot tell anybody.” His tone was deeply serious. “I need you to swear - swear to me upon your father’s grave that you will not tell  _anyone_.”

 _Actors_ , Etta thought,  _always so very dramatic_. She sighed, raising one hand as if taking a legal oath. “I swear upon my father’s grave, I will not tell anyone that you are in love with Charlie.” She dropped her hand, “But god, you are going to tell  _him_ , right?”

        “What? No!” Sameer recoiled and released her; he seemed genuinely baffled by the idea.

        “Sameer!”

        “He is my best friend!” He threw up his hands, “I am not about to jeopardize that just for some little... feeling!”

        “I saw the way you looked at him,” she said, sympathetic but stubborn, “this is anything but little. Goodness, Sameer, it must be tearing you apart. Surely you want to tell him.”

        “It doesn’t matter what I want!” Sameer said, exasperated with her persistence, “ _He_  is the only thing that matters, and I refuse to put him in such a position. I will not.”

        “But what if he feels the same way?” She beseeched him to consider the possibility.

        Sameer scoffed, dismissing it, “Etta, I cannot even _begin_ to tell you how unlikely that is. And regardless, have you not seen how he has been drinking? I don’t believe even Charlie knows how he really feels about anything these days. You know that I could never take advantage of him like that.” His worry and sadness over Charlie’s habits was clear in his tone as he stared distantly down at his shoes, and Etta felt her own mood turning somber at the thought. She reached out to lay a comforting hand on his arm.

        “We all want him to get better, trust me. I think... I think maybe he just needs time,” she kept her voice soft and calming, “and I can tell he appreciates everything you do to help him, even if he doesn’t always say so.”

        “I know,” Sameer said, dejected, “I know. I only... I only want to see him happy again. Really, properly happy. He never even sings anymore.” For a moment, his eyes looked watery, glistening in the low light, but he hurriedly blinked it away.

        “That’s all I want for both of you, too. Proper happiness.” Etta sighed, patting his arm. “That, and for this bloody long war to end. Maybe then we can all begin to be happier.”

        Sameer huffed a bitter little laugh, “That would certainly be a fine start.”

        “Well, with someone in his corner like you, I’d say Charlie is off to a pretty fine start too.” She gave his arm comforting squeeze.

        “Etta, my dear, you are simply too kind.” He said, offering a more genuine smile.

        “Just one of the many services I provide!” Her cheerfulness sounded only a little forced. She released his arm. They were silent for a few seconds, before she cautiously broached the question that had been digging at her mind.

        “Sameer, if you don’t mind me asking... what happened to him out there?”

        Sameer sighed and ran a hand through his hair, stepping back to take a seat on a low crate behind him. He rested both elbows across his knees, fingers laced, and sat there staring down at his clasped hands for a long while. Etta was starting to think maybe he wouldn’t tell her, but then he started to speak, voice quiet and slow.

        “We were meant to infiltrate this village that had been turned into a base, steal some intel, and sneak back out. Easy. Nothing we had not done a thousand times. But on the way out-  _merde_ , I was so stupid. I wasn’t paying attention; I tripped in the dark and fell into a window – cut my trigger hand all to bits.” He raised his bandaged hand, gesturing to it.

        “Of course, the noise of it woke the whole damn camp. We were pinned down in a firefight just trying to get out alive, and I could hardly shoot. Charlie, he had climbed up on this old stone wall, he said he had a good shot lined up on one the guns boxing us in, and then he just... froze up. It was as if he couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything; couldn’t even pull the trigger. Steve, he was telling him to hurry up and take the shot, and Charlie was just kneeling there, shaking like a leaf. I didn’t know whether I should pull him down, or let him keep trying, and then...” Sameer heaved a deep breath, running a hand through his hair again before continuing.

        “Someone got off a lucky shot, clipped him on the shoulder. He fell right back off of the wall, and his head...” he trailed off again, his expression pinched and his thoughts a thousand miles away. Or, perhaps only a few dozen meters down the hall.

        “The nurses, they say it is not so bad, that it was just a cut; he should wake up just fine. He even stirred a little on the way back to England. But back there, in the village... he wasn’t moving, and I couldn’t get him to wake, and there was just so  _much_  blood that I... I honestly thought that I was going to lose him.” Sameer’s voice was shaking and fragile as he stared helplessly down at the dark red stains on his coat, and Etta came to the sudden and sickening realization it might not all be from his own injuries.

        “Oh, Sameer,” she whispered through fingers pressed over her mouth, empathy in her voice.

        “We managed to escape, obviously; but only just barely, and only on account of Steve - I was a mess.” He sighed, rubbing a hand over the length of his face. “I understand that getting hurt, getting killed, it is an occupational hazard. This job has many risks, ones that I have weighed and accepted; I know that Charlie has done the same. And it will _always_ be his choice to make; I could never try to deny him that, no matter how bad it gets. He is a soldier; of course I cannot expect to keep him safe all of the time. But I am worried...” he finally looked up at her, expression grave, “I am worried that things may be getting worse than what he can take. That next time, I may really lose him.”

        Etta stepped forward to reach out and lay a comforting hand on his shoulder once again. “I know how it feels, believe me I do. My entire job is basically worrying about you boys, about Steve; wondering when you’re all gonna come home,  _if_  you’re all gonna come home. It’s so hard, caring about people when there’s a war going on. But I think...” she paused, searching for the right words, “I think it’s just that, caring about people, that’ll keep us sane enough to make it out on the other side.”

        “ _Por dios_ , I hope you are right.” Sameer sighed and glanced up at the ceiling, as if praying to a god Etta knew he put little stock in. He briefly laid one hand over top of hers where it rested on his shoulder, returning the gesture of comfort, before dropping it back to his side.

        “Me too.” Etta murmured. They stayed in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts.

        Etta took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and when she opened them, spoke with more of her usual pep in her tone, even if it was a little forced. “Now, it’s high time for you to go home and get some sleep.”

        “But Etta-“ he leapt to his feet, ready to argue even as he swayed on the spot.

        “No buts!” She cut him off with a finger jabbed at his face. “Steve left me with orders to take care of  _both_  of you, and that is exactly what I am going to do. Starting with making _you_ get some rest, before you pass out and I have you hospitalized as well!”

        “But Charlie-“

        “Will be fine, you just said so yourself. But  _you_  look like death warmed over, and exactly what use will you be to him if you can’t even take care of yourself?” It was a bit of a low blow, but sometimes such things were necessary.

        It was working, anyhow; she could see the fight leaving his eyes, the exhaustion winning out. “What if he wakes up?” he said softly, a last heartfelt protest, “I just don’t want him to wake up alone.”

        The sincerity in his voice nearly broke Etta’s resolve right then and there, but she was a bit tougher than that, and already had an answer prepared to throw back at him.

        “He won’t be alone. I’m going to stay tonight to watch over him, and send you word when he wakes up. I’ll just tell them I’m his sister or somethi-”

        She let out a startled squeak as she found herself pulled into a surprise hug, her face squashed against Sameer’s coat.

        “Thank you Etta, thank you. You are absolutely stellar, a gift; you are the very best,” he gushed as he released her, voice trembling with relief.

        “Yes, well, what are friends for?” she said, spitting out bits of fuzz from the coat’s woolly collar. “Now  _please,_ go! I feel tired just looking at you.” She opened the door to check the coast was still clear, and then began badgering him out into the hall. “Cmon, move it!”

        “Alright, alright, calm yourself! I am going!” Sameer muttered, trying to brush her off, but exiting all the same. Etta followed after him, making sure the door was properly shut and latched behind her. When she turned around and looked up, she saw that he was headed not towards the exit, but back towards Ward Five, where Charlie was.

        “Dear God, grant me patience for the eternal stubbornness of men.” Etta muttered to the rafters, and went marching after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: it is canon that Sameer shoots left-handed! Etta appears to be a leftie too (kudos to Elri for spotting that). Diana, Steve and Chief are righties, but interestingly enough Charlie is shown shooting left and right handed about an equal amount of the time, suggesting he’s ambidextrous! (source: I have watched this movie too many times)


	2. january 1919 - three months after

_"I want him to see the flowers in my eyes and hear the songs in my hands."_

_-Francesca Lia Block, Dangerous Angels_

* * *

 

        Etta discovered how Charlie felt during a night out.

        It was a dry spell between missions, and the three of them had gone out to this newfangled dancehall with a bar and modernist music - Sameer’s idea. He had gone before and insisted they would have the time of their lives, guaranteed. Etta suspected that he might be overstating things, but she hadn’t been out on the town in a good while, and thought she deserved a little excitement.

        Chief alone had declined the invitation, saying it really wasn’t his kind of place. Etta was a bit disappointed; she had come to quite like Chief the more she got to know him, and thought he might really be the sweetest of all her boys, underneath his serious exterior. Certainly the most level-headed. That said, she wasn’t about to drag him out to be miserable just for her sake. Perhaps she’d take him out to lunch sometime soon, to make up for leaving him the odd man out.

        She wasn’t entirely sure why Charlie had chosen to come along, given that for all his musical talent, he’d been an adamant non-dancer ever since she’d known him. Maybe he just liked the music; perhaps he enjoyed overpaying for a cup of tea. In any case, he spent the night sitting at their chosen table alongside the dancefloor and slowly working on a cuppa; making idle conversation with people nearby, chatting with Sameer and Etta when they dropped back in, and tapping his fingers on the tabletop in time with the notes of each song. He seemed content enough, at least.

        Even after a few months, it just felt good to see him sober again, smiling with real warmth instead of just smarm and bitterness, dressing neater, taking care of himself again. She knew everything wasn’t perfect now, not by a long shot - not after they’d lost so much. Yet even with Steve’s absence having left an aching gap in their ranks she tried so hard to fill, Etta couldn’t help but believe life was getting better, bit by bit. That they were all beginning to heal.

        The night could no longer be considered quite young, but Etta was still having a delightful time, and only slightly tipsy, when she dropped herself into the chair opposite Charlie, red-faced and out of breath from dancing with a fresh drink in hand.

        “Charlie, you would not  _believe_  the fellow I just danced with. His name was Bernard, which I didn’t much like, but then he was a decent dancer and not at all terrible to look at, which I  _did_  quite like; but then his breath smelled _horrendously_  of...“ she trailed off, as it became clear Charlie wasn’t paying her even the slightest bit of attention. How rude.

        He was gazing off across the dance floor at something far behind her, with a strange look on his face; something she’d glimpsed on him in fleeting moments over the years, but had never quite been able to identify. It was like some sort of odd mix between loneliness and contentment, affection and regret. His fingers were still drumming idly on the tabletop to the bouncing gaiety of the music, but his eyes looked rather sad.

        Curious, Etta turned in her chair and followed his gaze.

        It led her to Sameer's place at the far side of the room, where he was dancing a lively step with one of several pretty girls he had been charming and flirting with through the night. Etta and Charlie watched as he lifted the girl’s hand over her head and spun her around, both of them throwing their heads back in the careless laughter of two people clearly having a great deal of fun.

        Etta turned back to Charlie, and finally she recognized the look in his eyes; it was reminiscent of one she’d seen mirrored on Sameer’s face in a hospital ward months before.

        Longing.

        Lonely, incurable longing. And she knew instantly it wasn’t for some girl.

        “Oh my  _word_.” she turned back to stage-whisper across the table, reaching over to clutch Charlie’s wrist and catch his attention, “You love him. You are  _in love_  with him.”

        Charlie flinched so violently he nearly spilled his cup of tea, wrenching his arm out of her grasp.

        “Jesus H, woman!” he hissed, leaning in and fixing her with a fierce glare, “Keep it down, would ya?”

        She realized guiltily that in her drunkenness she may have been a tad louder than intended, and cringed. Still, as she looked around, it didn’t appear anyone else had noticed her over the music - they were all carrying on with their chatter as before.

        As a precaution, she got up and moved to a chair on Charlie’s side of the table, so she could lean in more closely to speak to him. Charlie, for his part, continued to fix her with a thundercloud glare over the rim of his teacup, his face gone beet red right up to his hairline. He very clearly wanted her to let it lie.

        Unfortunately for him, Etta was not so easily deterred.

        “It’s true, isn’t it?” she asked quietly.

        His face fell blank, and he set the cup down on its saucer, staring sombrely into its depths like he hoped it might have mercy and swallow him whole, letting him escape this. When it didn’t, he sighed, gazing up and across the dance floor again instead of meeting her eyes. He didn’t speak for a long time, but Etta waited patiently.

        “It is.” he finally said, voice hollow.

        “Well you’ve got to tell him!” Etta whispered excitedly, grabbing his arm.

        “What!?” Now he turned to look at her, eyes wide, “Have you completely lost yer feckin mind? Is there somethin’ funny in your drink?” He snatched up her glass and gave it a sniff.

        “No!” Etta snatched it back with a glare. “I’m perfectly serious, Charlie!”

        “And so am I!” he spat, “Look at him, Etta. Look how happy he is right now.” Charlie gestured to Sameer spinning with the girl across the room, grinning and laughing; his expression softened from indignation to something a little fond, a little heartbroken.

        It was with regret in his tone and a heavy sigh that he continued. “Sami, he’s... he’s the kind of man who’s gonna find a lovely gal to spend the rest of his days with, settle down in peacetime and start a happy lil’ family. He deserves a life like that, and the fact is that’s a life I could never give him. He’s someone who needs to be able to love openly, without any fear or havin’ to sneak around and hide. Puttin’ on another act, another con, another lie; I couldn’t ask him to live like that... it’d kill him inside.” He looked down into his cup, swirling the dregs of tea around. “And ‘sides all that, there’s a snowball’s chance in hell he’d ever feel the same way.”

 _But he does,_  Etta wanted to say,  _he told me himself, he loves you too. Can’t you see it?_  

        Except she’d given Sameer her word, she’d sworn she wouldn’t tell. She couldn’t betray his trust like that, could she? But god, Charlie looked so utterly defeated. And some days she still caught Sameer gazing at him when Charlie wasn’t looking, and he always looked so melancholy about it. Perhaps if she couldn’t tell Charlie directly, she could encourage him to be brave and find out for himself just how much he really was loved.

        She reached over to lay a hand on his arm again, keeping her voice gentle. “I’m pen-pals with a goddess, Charlie. I think we can agree, crazier things have happened in our lives.”

        He snorted a derisive laugh. “You have met him, yeah? The only things Sami likes more than a pretty girl, is good story or a fast car. He’s a skirt-chaser, Etta. Dunno if you’ve seen me,” he gestured down at himself, “but I’m not exactly his type.”

        “Well... a kilt’s just a different type of skirt, isn’t it?” Etta quipped, the joke slipping out before she could stop herself. She followed it up with what she hoped was an innocent-looking smile, trying to save face.

        Charlie turned his stunned gaze on her, and for a second she thought she may have stepped on his blustering male ego just enough that he’d be truly pissed off. To her surprise, he burst into howling peals of laughter, red-faced and shaking, and she soon found herself giggling too. A few people nearby turned to glare at how loud they were, but Etta couldn’t be arsed to care.

        “Oh my lord,” Charlie said when he had finally caught his breath, wiping a tear from his eye, “I always forget that for a lassie, you’ve got a wicked lil’ sense of humour. Good god...” he descended into another round of chuckles, clearly a bit hysterical but trying hard to tamp it down.

        “You don’t have to do that, you know.” Etta said, though still in good spirits, “spoil every compliment you’ve ever paid me by adding ‘for a lassie’ to it. There are plenty of funny women, Charlie, I’m not an exception.”

        “I know, I just-“ he cut himself off from his excuse and shook his head, “You know what, I am sorry, I’ll try not t’ do it any more. Please reprimand me if I do.”

        “Much better, thank you.” She smiled smugly as she took a sip of her drink. It was taking time, but he was slowly learning. Progress.

        “But you’ve gotta swear you won’t tell him,” he added, now deathly serious.

        “What,  _no_ , Charlie!” she pleaded.

        “I’m not kidding, Etta.” His expression was grave.

        “But what if he  _did_  feel the same?” she whispered, imploring him to hear her underlying meaning. Of course, he missed it completely.

        “He doesn’t!” Charlie threw up his hands, struggling to keep his voice down. “And it doesn’t even matter what the odds of that are anyhow, he’s my best friend; I’m not gonna gamble our friendship on some off chance he’d be okay with it, let alone reciprocate!”

        “Oh Charlie,” she tried and failed to keep the pitying sympathy out of her voice, “You can’t possibly think he’d hate you for it. This is Sami we’re talking about.”

        “That’s not a risk I’m willin’ to take.” His tone was hard and final; he laid a hand on her elbow and leaned down to meet her eyes. “You’ve gotta give me your word that you won’t tell anyone about this, especially him. Your  _word_ , Etta.”

 _How_ , she thought to herself, _how has this become my life? Why me?_ She knew there was no other way out, though not without breaking an oath she'd already made.

        “Alright,” she sighed, meeting his eyes to show she really meant it, “You have my word, I’ll not tell a soul.”

        His shoulders slumped in relief, and he patted her arm once before retracting his hand. “Thank you.”

        “What are friends for?” Etta muttered into her drink, only slightly sarcastic.

        Charlie finished the last of his tea, then stood up and stretched. “I’m going t’order another cuppa, you want anythin’?”

        “Yeah. I’ll have another whiskey, neat, please.” She was suddenly very much in need of much more alcohol.

        “You got it.” He winked at her in that cheeky way of his, and set off towards the bar. In the background, the song had switched over to something slow.

        Etta leaned back in her chair, turning her gaze again to Sameer to see him looking over the girl’s shoulder as they swayed back and forth. His eyes followed Charlie on his path to the bar, expression turning wistful. Charlie himself was very deliberately not looking towards the dance floor at all, likely not wanting to see yet another thing he thought he couldn’t have.

        “God, grant me patience for the total obliviousness of men.” Etta muttered to the ceiling, and knocked back the rest of her drink.

**Author's Note:**

> Are they going to get their shit together and confess? How long is it going to take them? Will Etta develop a stress ulcer? You'll have to wait and read the big fic. Whenever I finish it. Someday.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!


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